


Compensation

by suganegg



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Gunplay, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Oral Sex, Russian Roulette, Sex for Favors, i mean shinji consents but hes not happy about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suganegg/pseuds/suganegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinjiro can't pay for the month's suppressants so he works out an alternate form of payment with Takaya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compensation

**Author's Note:**

> the description of strega's hideout is based on its appearance in p3m2, which admittedly is only one room so i did my best at coming up with what the rest would be like (since i haven't watched the other movies yet and don't know if more of the hideout is shown in them). when it's mentioned at the end that shinji's saved jin's life before and they've had food together, those are references to the "shadow cry" novel! unfortunately, only one chapter is translated afaik so i've had to piece things together from summaries and fanart. i'm totally interested in knowing more about shinji's relationship with strega though...!!

“Here.” Jin says, holding out the familiar yellow bottle to Shinjiro.

Shinjiro glances at it, then at Jin’s face, and back to the bottle again. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and clenches his fists in the depths of his jacket pockets. Better to get it over with quick, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“I can’t pay.”

Jin narrows his eyes, his mouth forming a hard line. “What was that?”

“I said I can’t pay.” Shinjiro repeats, annoyance creeping into his voice. “I don’t have the cash this month.”

“Then I guess we’re done here.” Jin says simply, closing his hand around the offered bottle and retracting it.

“H-hey, wait,” Shinjiro stammers, mentally cursing himself for sounding so desperate. “Can’t I just pay double next month?”

“If you don’t have the money now, then what are the chances you’d be able to pay twice that next month?”

“Look, ain’t there some kind of trade we can work out? I can give you guys information you want or—I dunno—collect debts or some shit.” Shinjiro is grasping at straws and he hates how he’s showing his hand to Jin, making it plain just how badly he needs the suppressants. Of course, it wasn’t like Strega didn’t already know how bad off he is, but the fact that he's all but begging makes him feel disgusting.

Jin stares at Shinjiro, his foot tapping out a rhythm on the concrete. Shinjiro stares right back and matches his gaze evenly with no intention of backing down.

“There might be something.” Jin says finally, crossing his arms over his chest. “A personal favor to Takaya.”

Shinjiro frowns, “What d’you mean?”

“It’s a sort of alternate form of payment that Takaya allows in some cases; you can work out the details with him in person. That’s your offer. Take it or leave it.”

Shinjiro digs his nails into his fists, mulling over his choices in his head: choice one, he could go a month without suppressants and run the risk of Castor killing him and possibly destroying everything and everyone in his vicinity; choice two, he could do an ambiguous “personal favor” for a man that—quite honestly—makes his skin crawl. He was screwed no matter how you split it, but it was clear what he had to do.

“Alright,” he relents, “I’ll do it. Take me to see Takaya.”

Jin throws out a “Follow me,” and cuts down an alley, setting a brisk pace. It isn’t hard for Shinjiro to catch up and keep the pace thanks to his long legs, and they make quick work of winding through the twists and turns of Port Island’s back alleys. Shinjiro has no idea where they’re going, and he finds it hard to believe that Jin was willing to take him to meet up with Takaya in the first place, instead of the other way around. Wouldn’t Strega be worried about him giving the information to SEES and then being ambushed on their own turf?

_Probably not_ , he decides after a beat. After all, hadn’t he made it clear several times over that he wasn’t affiliated with them anymore? And besides, Strega has leverage over him and they know it; they’re his only access to the drugs he depends on, and it isn’t hard to imagine that they’d revoke that access as soon as they heard about him running his mouth to SEES.

…He really is a pawn in Strega’s hands, isn’t he?

Shinjiro doesn’t keep track of how long they were walking, but it wasn’t like he could have if he wanted to, considering his watch was lost in a gutter somewhere. At any rate, he and Jin soon arrive at a non-descript warehouse. It was in the shitty part of Port Island, and its broken windows and graffitied exterior blend in well with the surrounding buildings. It was the type of place you’d walk right by without looking at if it weren’t your destination, and Shinjiro had himself several times. He’d been in the area before, when he was feeling good enough to exert himself and wanted to kill time away from the alley or any place where he might run into Akihiko or Mitsuru. Who knew he had been so close to Strega the entire time.

Jin ignores the heavy shutter door and leads Shinjiro around back to a set of stairs that culminates in a rusted door that looks like it’s barely hanging on to its hinges. Shinjiro notes the high-tech lock on it, however; it must’ve been installed special with the money Strega collects from their revenge website and persona-users hooked on suppressants like him. Jin blocks Shinjiro’s view as he keys in a pin code, as if Shinjiro would ever come back to the place and break in.

There’s a high pitch beep and the sound of tumblers falling into place, and the door swings open with a metallic screech. Jin stands to the side to allow Shinjiro to enter the gloomy stairwell, then closes the door behind them and resets the lock. He takes the lead once again, heading up the stairs instead of down. A part of Shinjiro had thought Strega to be the type to hole up in some sort of underground lair, but maybe Takaya preferred having a view of the city instead. He probably enjoyed the sight of Tartarus towering over Port Island during the Dark Hour, unearthly green glow illuminating the streets that ran with blood and were lined with transmogrified people—thinking about it made Shinjiro gag.

They go up several flights of stairs, passing different landings along the way. Shinjiro didn’t see anyone else in the building, but he wonders if there are persona-users worse off than him living in the place, close to their lifeline of suppressants and possible executioners, if it came to that. They finally stop at one of the landings, in front of a door that looks exactly like all the others on floors below. Jin pushes it open and heads in, knowing full well that Shinjiro’s right behind him.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, illuminating shadows created by the twilight outside. The room is sparse, with a long wooden table pushed up underneath the windows and a bookshelf lined with bottles on the wall opposite it. In the center there’s a ratty sofa where the lolita-chick—Chidori? Shinjiro had only overhead her name once—sat. Next to it was a wooden arm chair where Takaya is seated, legs crossed and hand resting on his chin, as if he were contemplating something.

“Jin,” Takaya coos, getting to his feet and spreading his arms wide as Jin crosses the room, “welcome back. And I see you’ve brought a friend.” Takaya’s eyes travel to where Shinjiro stands, a good few feet away from anyone else. “To what do we owe this honor? Have you decided to join our cause?”

Shinjiro almost spits out, “Not a chance in hell,” but catches himself before it slips. Better to not ruin his chances before he even gets to work out what this “favor” is supposed to be.

Jin answers for him from where he's sitting on the table on the other side of the room. “He can’t pay this month.”

“So, you’re here to work out another form of payment.” It’s a statement of fact from Takaya, not a question.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Shinjiro confirms it anyway.

Takaya hums, his face taking an expression akin to a smile, but more twisted. “I see... Well then, we’d better get to it. Shinjiro, follow me. Jin, Chidori, you’re free to do as you wish.”

So her name _is_ Chidori.

Shinjiro takes a look back over his shoulder as he follows behind Takaya, but neither Jin nor Chidori had moved from where they sit. Chidori appears disinterested, not paying any mind to the scene, and Shinjiro wonders if she had noticed it at all. Jin, on the other hand, was following them with his eyes, frown on his lips and foot tapping out a rhythm in the empty air.

Shinjiro’s led through a long, narrow hallway, dim light filtering in through the holes in the ceiling leading their way. The sound of broken glass crunching underfoot mixes with the clicks of Shinjiro’s and Takaya’s heels, no words passing between the pair. Takaya takes Shinjiro to the end of the hall, past broken and overturned furniture into a room significantly smaller than the one they had been in a few minutes prior. Shinjiro figures the former was something like a common room, despite its lack of decorating.

He takes a look around as Takaya moves on ahead. This room is similar to the common room, with its fluorescent lights, busted windows, broken ceiling tiles, and peeling paint. It holds two bookshelves (similarly stocked to the one in the common room), a wooden table that looks like a nightstand, and a stepladder. The biggest difference between this room and they one they had been in, besides its lack of a door, is the bed situated up near the wall.

Takaya sits down, legs spread open, atop the bed’s dirty and ragged sheets. He removes his gun from the makeshift holster of his belt and places it next to him, his right hand resting lightly on the grip. He eyes Shinjiro, who is still standing near the doorframe, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“I ain’t here to play handyman, am I?” Shinjiro asks sarcastically, vaguely gesturing towards the stepladder.

“Shinjiro…” Takaya starts, taking on a condescending tone, “surely you’re bright enough to piece things together on your own, aren’t you?”

Shinjiro blinks, staring at the man in front of him, and then it hits him. Of course—meeting in person, sending Jin and Chidori away, the room, the bed—how could he have been such an idiot to not realize what this “personal favor” was going to be sooner?

“Are you shitting me?!” He blurts, incredulity causing Shinjiro to take a step forward.

“Oh, so you didn’t figure it out until now?” Takaya asks rhetorically. “What a shame. I expected more from you.”

Shinjiro opens his mouth to retort, but Takaya cuts him off before he has the chance.

“Come now, what’s the problem? This would hardly be your first time, correct?” Shinjiro doesn’t provide him with an answer, but the way he presses his lips together is all Takaya needs before he powers on. “Then there should be no issue. It’s quite the simple trade—a little physical contact for something worth so much more.”

Takaya produces a yellow pill bottle from somewhere on his person and holds it up, inspecting the drugs inside. “That is, unless you don’t want this anymore?” He asks slyly, turning his head to judge Shinjiro’s reaction.

Shinjiro grinds his teeth, anger burning hot in the pit of his stomach. It's true that this isn’t his first time, and it isn't like he has a problem with the setting, either; this is actually a lot nicer than the usual places he does it in, with men whose names he doesn't catch and won’t bother to remember—at least there are four walls and a roof. It's the fact that it's _Takaya_. A man who knows full well the power he holds over Shinjiro, who knows full well that Shinjiro doesn’t have another choice if he wants to keep holding onto whatever sliver of a pathetic life he has left, who knows full well that Shinjiro will do whatever he wants to get suppressants.

He forces out a breath, taking his hands out of his pockets and unclenching his fists. “Fine,” he growls, “let’s get this over with.”

Takaya smirks, leaning back on his hands, suppressants hidden away once again. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

Shinjiro hardly appreciates the praise, if it was that, as he unbuttons his jacket and throws it down on the floor behind him. He doesn't want the jacket getting dirty; at least the turtleneck underneath he would be able to cover up, if anything gets on it. Shinjiro pushes his sleeves up to the elbow as he drops to his knees in front of Takaya. From this angle, he doesn’t necessarily have to look up, and he can pretend it's just another random, nameless man that he's about to suck off.

Takaya’s not even hard yet, but Shinjiro figures he’ll give him a few cursory strokes and then get on with the main show. The heavy belt buckle is easy enough to undo, and Shinjiro has the strap loosened and pulled out of the way when there’s the feeling of a cold, metal cylinder against his forehead.

“ _Shit_ ,” Shinjiro hisses under his breath. What, was he going to have to give a blowjob at gunpoint? _That_ would be a first time.

He raises his head to look at Takaya. Shinjiro finds himself being inspected with cold eyes as Takaya’s thumb rubs back and forth slowly across the gun’s hammer.

“Eager, are we?” He asks. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that patience is a virtue?”

Shinjiro scowls, hands still holding the two ends of Takaya’s belt. “Then what the hell do you _want_ me to do?”

Takaya regards him silently and slowly moves the gun from forehead to temple, then along the side of Shinjiro’s face, the sensation sending shivers down Shinjiro’s spine. It stops by the corner of his mouth, then glides across his lips to the other side.

“Open.”

“Wh—”

Shinjiro can’t finish the word before the muzzle is shoved into his mouth, scraping against his teeth. Takaya pushes, forcing it in further, and Shinjiro chokes against its size and the metallic taste in his mouth. He jerks away, coughing up spittle and willing nothing else to come up along with it.

“ _Tsk_ , _tsk_ ,” Takaya tuts above Shinjiro’s head. “Choking already?”

“Not used to havin’ a goddamn gun shoved into my mouth.”

“I think it makes things more… _exhilarating_ , wouldn’t you agree?”

Of course Takaya is the type of person to be into this shit. Shinjiro watches as Takaya empties out the chambers of the revolver, bullets hitting the concrete floor with little pings. Takaya gestures at scattered pieces of metal on the ground.

“Pick one up.”

Shinjiro does as he’s told, picking a bullet at random and handing it up to Takaya. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach as Takaya loads it into a chamber and spins the cylinder so neither of them know where the bullet is.

“Russian roulette…” Shinjiro mutters.

“That’s right. Now, let us try this again...” Takaya croons, cocking the revolver. “Lick it.”

Shinjiro stares at the firearm, lips pursed. So, he wasn’t going to be giving a blowjob _at_ gunpoint but instead be giving a blowjob _to_ a gun; still a first time either way. But he doesn’t have a choice, so he straightens up, hands wrapping around the outside of Takaya’s. Shinjiro prays to whatever god there is that the extra pressure on Takaya’s hand doesn’t cause him to accidentally pull the trigger.

He runs his tongue along the length of the barrel and ridges of the cylinder, metallic taste filling his mouth once again. He can’t help but think of all that could go wrong as if Takaya decides to pull the trigger and the bullet is released: he could be blinded and burned by the muzzle flash, get nicked by the bullet and end up bleeding all over the floor if he’s lucky, or get shot and end up dead if he’s unlucky.

But… a part of Shinjiro is enjoying the danger, if the way his pants are getting tighter and the primal way Castor is scraping against his brain are any indicators. Who the hell did he think he was? Some kind of adrenaline junkie? Maybe Aki had rubbed off on him more than he knew.

He glides his tongue across the underside of the barrel, then opens his mouth slightly to take in the muzzle. Shinjiro goes slowly, unlike how Takaya had been forcing it into his mouth earlier. He keeps his tongue flat, taking in the barrel inch-by-inch. Goddamn, the thing was huge—there was no way he wasn’t going to choke on it.

_Click_.

Shinjiro jumps at the noise of the empty chamber, all but jerking away and pulling his mouth off the gun for the second time. The reaction earns him another click. He raises his eyes to look at Takaya’s face, and is greeted with a bemused expression.

“That’s two,” Takaya informs. “You noticed it only holds five rounds, didn’t you?”

He did.

His heart hammers in his chest and Castor roars in his head, but Shinjiro forces himself to calm down and breathes out heavily through his nose. He gets back to the task at hand, trying not to focus on the fact that he’s used up almost half his luck by now, and he isn’t very lucky to begin with. Shinjiro guides Takaya’s wrist to adjust the tilt of the gun and ducks his head, taking in more of the length of the barrel. His jaw is aching as the weapon presses against the back of his tongue, and Shinjiro doesn’t think he can go any further without choking. He swallows against the obstruction and forces out a moan that’s more for show than anything else, everything sounding dull in his ears beneath the pounding of his blood and Castor's cries.

_Click_.

He inches back, freeing the revolver from his mouth, a thin line of drool connecting his lips to the muzzle. Shinjiro changes the angle of the gun again and retraces his path along the underside of the barrel. He licks down the trigger guard, his tongue flicking into the space to brush against Takaya’s finger with no discernible reaction from the man. Shinjiro takes a moment to lick and suck at Takaya’s knuckles before moving back up to give matching treatment to the side of the barrel and cylinder that he had ignored earlier. He adjusts the gun a final time and returns to the muzzle, slipping his tongue into the empty space, acerbic taste burning the back of his throat.

… _Click_.

Takaya releases a sigh filled with ecstasy at finality of the sound, and pulls the revolver away from Shinjiro’s face, untangling their hands. He opens the cylinder again and lets the bullet clatter to the floor, then wipes the glistening barrel on the sheets before setting the weapon aside.

“It appears that fortune smiles upon you; wouldn’t you say?”

Shinjiro isn’t so sure he’d agree. He hadn’t died sucking off a gun, which is a plus, but the fact that he still has to play into Takaya’s hands makes it seem like fortune has a pretty sick sense of humor. Then again, considering everything in his life that’s lead up to this moment, fortune probably does.

Takaya coolly observes Shinjiro’s disheveled state: the way he was panting with a flush high on his cheeks and sporting an obvious reaction below the waist to what just happened.

“And it seems you did find that rather exhilarating.” He comments. Takaya swings out a foot and presses the flat of his boot against Shinjiro’s erection, causing him to gasp. “But this isn’t your time.”

“Bastard,” Shinjiro spits.

“Call me what you like, it won’t change anything.”

The constant holier-than-thou attitude Takaya carries infuriates Shinjiro, and the fact that he was right only makes Shinjiro that much more annoyed.

“Are we done with the damn games, or what?” Shinjiro demands, staring up with ferocity into Takaya’s golden gaze.

Takaya shrugs and leans back, releasing his foot off of Shinjiro. Shinjiro figures that’s his cue, and he takes place back between Takaya’s legs. Takaya’s erection is just as noticeable as his own, and Shinjiro deftly unbuttons the man’s jeans and pulls down the zipper. He makes quick work of moving Takaya’s waistband out of the way, exposing his length. He was actually bigger than Shinjiro expected, as he had more or less thought for a while that Takaya was compensating with the gun. He was still smaller than the length of the muzzle, which is good news to Shinjiro because it means he’ll be able to handle it.

He presses a hand against Takaya’s hip and takes a moment to wet his lips, then leans his head down and licks a hard line from the base of the cock to the tip. He ignores the head for now, instead deciding to mouth along the sides. The way Takaya’s breathing becomes more audible is Shinjiro’s only indication that his actions are having any effect. Had suppressants dulled Takaya’s senses like they screwed up Shinjiro’s body, or was he always this freakishly quiet? Shinjiro figures it could be both, or go either way.

Deciding that he can’t ignore it any longer, Shinjiro wraps his lips around Takaya’s cock, taking it into his mouth. He pushes the foreskin back with his lips and licks around the newly exposed head, and his tongue flicks across the slit which gets a gasp in return. Takaya’s comfort is the furthest thing from Shinjiro’s mind, so he doesn’t bother turning his lips down to cover his teeth; instead, he lets them scrape against the sensitive skin as he takes more of the length into his mouth. A raspy moan and Takaya’s hands threading into his hair were the last things Shinjiro expected to get in response, though.

Encouraged to be rough, Shinjiro finds a rhythm, bobbing his head and letting his teeth scrape against Takaya’s dick without reservation. Apparently Takaya was encouraged too, because he yanks on Shinjiro’s hair and fucks his mouth. Shinjiro hates that he can feel himself getting hard in response, but he lets his free hand fall to his crotch and palms at himself through his jeans in an attempt to relive at least some of the pent-up frustration.

“ _Ha_ —I don’t think so.” Takaya pants, the action failing to escape his keen observation.

He kicks Shinjiro’s hand away and replaces it with the heel of his boot. Where before the pressure of Takaya’s shoe had been almost pleasurable, the way his heel presses hard and twists against Shinjiro’s erection was obviously intended to be painful.

“ _This isn’t your time_.” Takaya repeats, leaning down to whisper in Shinjiro’s ear before pulling on his hair as he sits back up.

Shinjiro bites with his molars in retaliation, but it only earns a shuddering moan and a more pronounced pressure on his dick, instead of the cry of pain and release he was looking for. Shit, Takaya is all sorts of fucked up.

At this point, Shinjiro’s been pushed to the limits of his patience, virtue be damned. He finds the rhythm again and hollows out his cheeks, scraping his teeth up and down Takaya’s length. The man jerks erratically beneath him, the tip of his dick hitting the inside of Shinjiro’s cheek one second and the back of his tongue the next. Shinjiro’s actually sort of thankful that the gun prepared him for the treatment his mouth was receiving.

Takaya pushes Shinjiro’s head down without warning, his grip on Shinjiro’s hair preventing him from pulling up. With a yell, Takaya finishes, coming into Shinjiro’s mouth. Shinjiro doesn’t have any choice but to swallow the bitter fluid as it spills down his throat, waiting impatiently for Takaya to come out of his orgasm. He finally does, and unceremoniously pulls himself out as he takes his foot away from Shinjiro’s now quite painful erection.

Shinjiro coughs and spits on the floor by Takaya’s feet, then wipes the excess drool and cum from his mouth with the back of his hand. He stands shakily, turning to pick up his jacket and dust it off as Takaya adjusts himself and steadies his breathing.

“My, what an expression that is.” Takaya comments as he looks up and meets Shinjiro’s glare.

“Cut the bullshit.” Shinjiro says, vehemence plain in his voice. “I did what you wanted—hand over the suppressants already.”

Takaya appears contemplative as he runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, yes... Jin should have those for you downstairs. You remember the way out, don’t you?”

Shinjiro considers reminding Takaya that he has a bottle on him (he was sure the man hadn’t forgotten, anyway) but figures he’s already pressed his luck enough. Besides, the last thing he wants is to be in Takaya’s presence any longer.

He turns on his heel and strides out of the room with shoulders hunched and hands shoved into his pockets. Here he is, taking his own personal walk of shame through Strega’s hideout. Nausea at what he did and lingering arousal battle for attention in his mind while Castor overlays it all with his roars. His jaw aches from overextension and he can still taste the tinny and sour flavors mingling in the back of his throat. At least his jacket covers his erection, but he was still going to have to find a place to take care of it after he left if it didn’t go down soon. Shinjiro’s only grace is that he’ll be able to quiet Castor’s cries soon enough, making that one less thing to focus on.  

Shinjiro steps into the common room; Jin isn’t there, so he must be on the ground floor like Takaya told him. Chidori is still on the sofa, but she seems to have fallen asleep in the time that Shinjiro was in the back with Takaya. It’s inconsequential to him, so Shinjiro continues on out, taking the stairs as fast as he can without tripping in the darkness of the stairwell.

When he reaches the bottom, he can see Jin leaning against the door, arms crossed and attaché case set on the ground next to his feet. Jin turns his head when he hears Shinjiro’s approach, and he leans down to flick open the case and reach for an object inside.

“Here.” Jin says, holding out his hand, the similarity to the afternoon that now seems a million miles away giving Shinjiro some weird sense of déjà vu.

Shinjiro extends his hand and Jin drops the bottle into the awaiting palm. He looks at the pills inside for a second, wondering if what he did was actually worth it, before slipping them into his pocket. It wasn't like he could take anything back now, anyway. Shinjiro watches as Jin unlocks the door to the street, and a question prickles at the back of his mind. It wasn’t like him to get involved with other people’s lives—especially not now—but well, he had saved Jin’s life once and they did get ramen together another time.

“Hey,” Shinjiro says slowly, “are you okay with that?”

“With what?” Jin asks, staring at Shinjiro like he was stupid.

“Takaya’s “compensation”.” Shinjiro answers, jerking his thumb back at the stairs behind him.

Jin blinks, and Shinjiro wonders how his meaning can’t be glaringly obvious. It would be plain to anyone that Jin’s dedication to Takaya definitely more than borders on the romantic. Takaya is surely aware of it himself, yet here he is trading sex for drugs all but right in front of Jin’s face. It’s not like Shinjiro wants to play relationship counselor to the world’s most fucked up couple, but he feels kind of bad for Jin since he’s in love with a guy like Takaya.

“Takaya’s satisfaction is my priority,” Jin says, finally. “Whatever he wants, I'll help him achieve, and that’s good enough for me. Happy?”

It was something of a non-answer, so Shinjiro simply shrugs; it wasn’t really his business to begin with. Jin heaves an exasperated sigh and yanks open the rusted door to the screeching of its hinges.

“Just get out already, will you?”

Shinjiro doesn’t need to be told again, and he brushes past Jin into the cool night air.

“Takaya isn’t so forgiving twice,” Jin calls from within the threshold, causing Shinjiro to turn, “so you’d better be able to pay next month.”

Shinjiro watches from the alley as Jin disappears behind the door with a final clang that reverberates off the walls.

 

 


End file.
